


but my god it's so beautiful when the boy smiles

by brokenbravery



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbravery/pseuds/brokenbravery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>self indulgent fluffy piece, where harry gets teased for wearing flower crowns and louis is the stranger that does something about it. from there on out, the fall is easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but my god it's so beautiful when the boy smiles

**Author's Note:**

> this is honestly just very cute and humorous which is so not my style but yeah i hope it's decent :)
> 
> title from Breathe by Anna Nalick (yeah, remember that song? nostalgia is the best <3)

Box of Vans in hand, Louis is impatient where he stands in line at the shoe store, inwardly cursing Niall for deciding they needed to go on a two AM adventure through the world’s muddiest forest, ruining the pair he already owns. Owned, rather, as he’d thrown them at the Irish wanker this morning, who, with reflexes rivalling a cheeta’s, ducked just in time and let them fly past and out the open window, down to the street fourteen stories below. (Louis may have lost his temper just a little. If the noise complaint he was forwarded is anything to go by.)

Muse is playing overhead, and the unique smell of brand new shoes is wafting about as the front doors open and close, small children running in after their tired looking mother, chattering on excitedly about light up sneakers. Louis remembers those days, and smiles a little nostalgically.

He’s not been paying much attention as the line inches forward, but a distinct teenybopper voice behind him brings his brain back and he carefully listens in, staring at the box in his hands.

“Oh my god, why would you ever wear that in public?” A girl is gossiping, something about her tone making him bristle right away. “It’s ridiculous!”

Louis’ curiosity gets the better of him and he casually glances around to see two teenage girls behind him, maybe about seventeen years old, bleach blonde hair and too much makeup, with UGG boxes under identical tan arms, Starbucks frappucinos in perfectly manicured hands. _Brats_ , he thinks right away, and looks away before he’s caught.

He continues to listen though, feeling the need to monitor. Blame his over controlling personality, or something. His therapist could explain it better. (Or maybe he’d just say Louis is nosy. That is entirely possible.)

“He looks like an idiot.” The other girl murmurs. “Why would he wanna wear it anyways? Makes him look like a girl.”

“Tranny.” The first snorts.

Louis frowns and surveys the shop, trying to spot who they’re talking about. It takes a moment, but when the punk guy with the mowhawk in front of him shifts to the left half a foot, he sees. The cashier boy, currently bagging a purchase with a kind smile on his cherry red lips, has a long lanky body, and twinkly green eyes peeking out from behind a mop of chocolate curls. On which, he is wearing an actual flower crown. Louis didn't even know those were a real life thing.

But apparently they are, and the two _bitches_ behind him find it all too hilarious.

“Bet he’s gay.” One hedges.

“Bet he has no friends.” The other counters.

Both laugh, and it makes Louis sick.

Because the boy is gorgeous, enough that it makes Louis’ gay heart tha-thump, and he _suits_ the flower crown, he really does. There’s just something about him, the way he moves, all graceful but unaware, accidentally knocking a box to the floor but smoothing it over with a charming, blushy wave of his hand. (He has big hands. Louis is thinking about things he shouldn’t.)

The girls behind have quieted, sipping at their drinks while everyone moves forward a spot, Louis next to be served after Mowhawk. Flower Crown Boy is packing up his boxes happily, telling him the price in a lovely low voice, and Louis tries not to get flustered unnecessarily. (He fails.)

The guy is almost done paying when the girls behind Louis decide to prattle on once more, blatantly loud enough for everyone to hear. Including their victim.

“Do you think he made it himself? Bet he worked really hard on it.” One mocks, and he hears their jewelry clink as they nudge each other.

Flower Crown Boy falters, but visibly steels himself and rolls his eyes, continuing as if it didn’t happen. Louis is proud of him, which, considering he’s only known of his existence for all of a minute, is probably a bit odd. But then again, Louis is pretty odd himself.

“And of course it’s got roses.” Teenager Two mutters. “Probably thinks someone’s gonna come sweep him off his giant feet.”

They laugh again, under their breath, one of them hissing an _as if_. Louis wants to hit something. Preferably them. But he can’t, because as much as he’d surely get a lovely amount of satisfaction from it, he doesn’t plan on getting sued by their rich ass parents. Instead, he watches as Mowhawk takes his bag and leaves, and Flower Crown Boy keeps his head down, as if they’ll stop if they can’t see his face. Everyone probably knows that’s not true.

Anger pulsing through him and eager to teach those girls a lesson, Louis steps up the counter, sets his box down and plants his hands on the surface. The boy looks up with sad eyes, and Louis’ stomach pangs.

“How can I help you?” He asks, slightly strained.

“My name is Louis, and I think you’re cute.” Louis states evenly, cocking his head to the side. He hears the girls behind him stop what they’re doing, imagining that they probably look a bit like floundering fish. Flower Crown Boy does too, but for other reasons.

He goes all tickled pink, giggling nervously. “Oh, um. Okay. My name is Harry, and I think you’re very blunt.”

“Well, no time to beat around the bush, love, it’s now or never.” Louis reasons, nodding as if this is a serious matter.

Harry looks immediately endeared, smirking down at the cash register. “I suppose so.”

Louis just nods again.

“And going with the trend of bluntness, do you think I could ask what time your shift ends, so I can take you out for coffee?” He asks, and for the benefit of the girls behind him, adds “None of that fuck-uccino stuff, I mean real coffee, that actually has more caffeine than sugar in it.”

Harry’s eyes spark like he knows what he’s doing, but he still nods, taking his merry time to shift closer, ignoring the growing lineup he’s supposed to be tending to.

“Yeah.” He grins, and then his face falls, as if he’s remembered something. “Oh, shit, no, actually. I have to drive my sister to her boyfriend’s house.”

For some reason, the cunts behind Louis find this amusing too, and snort from behind their cups. Louis almost growls.

“No problem.” He says in place of it. “I don’t mind driving her. And then we can just find a coffee shop round wherever that is?”

Harry looks at him like he’s a real life angel. (Louis’ mind thinks _no, that’s you_. The ring of assorted pink flowers on his head looks an awful lot like a halo, now that he thinks about it.)

“Okay.” He beams, and adorable dimples dent his cheeks. Louis is going to die. (Can you die from sexual frustration? Except not just sexual? Just, like, attractiveness in general. Attractiveness frustration, is that a thing? Louis should really stop trying to convince himself that the Scrabble app is a valid form of English education.) “I get off at three.”

“Yeah you do.” Louis intones, winking. Harry barks a laugh, and grabs for Louis’ box, but the smaller boy shakes his head. “Nah, keep that here, I’ll pick it up at three, yeah?”

“Along with me.” Harry flirts unabashedly, seeming to have gained back his confidence. Good.

“Along with you, gorgeous.” He drawls, and with one last admittedly sassy look over his shoulder, where both girls are determinedly staring anywhere else, he waves and walks away.

And if he lingers by the doorway just to make sure they don’t further insult Harry in any way (they don't, instead hurrying to pay with embarrassed and pissed off expressions) then, well. He’s just looking out for him. He deserves that much.

*

“I thought you went out for shoes?” Niall asks when he comes back empty handed. Or, empty of shoes, at least, as he stopped by the donut shop downstairs like he often does. Tossing Niall his usual Boston crème, he plops down on the table (because, like, fuck rules) and begins to munch on his chocolate dip.

“I did. I’m picking them up later.” He mumbles absentmindedly, wiping icing from the corner of his mouth and sucking it off his finger.

Niall furrows his brow from where he’s sprawled out on the couch, probably not having moved since Louis left. Jerry Springer is on, which never fails to entertain him. (He always says it’s the Irish in him, makes him love a good fight, but Louis just thinks that Niall is a straight boy and straight boys like dumb things.)

“Why?” He asks, a drop of crème filling falling onto his shirt. He stares at it for a moment before shrugging, forgetting it just like that. How Louis lives with such a slob, he doesn’t know.

“Reasons.” He hums.

Niall narrows his eyes. “Louis.”

“Niall.”

“ _Louis_.”

“ _Niall_.”

“Lou- _is_.”

“Ni- _asshole_.”

Niall snorts and rolls his eyes, kicking him with a sock clad foot. The other is bare. Louis doesn’t ask.

“It’s totally a boy isn’t it?” He asks, shit eating grin with icing at the sides.

Louis glares. (It might be a bit ineffective, as he’s also finishing off his donut.)

“Louis met a boooy!” Niall taunts, looking all too pleased.

“Louis also hates you.” Said boy grumbles and stands up, stalking from the room. “And he’s going to go have a shower and use your special body wash!”

“I’ll kill you!”

“You’d have to get off your arse to do that, and we both know that’s not gonna happen!”

“Damn you.” Is muttered from the living room, and Louis fist pumps victoriously.

He gets in the shower and lets the hot water run over him soothingly, vengefully overusing Niall’s fairy princess body wash. No really, there’s a unicorn on the bright pink bottle and everything. The kid hoards the stuff, defends its honor valiantly, says it smells like he took a bath in a My Little Pony episode. Louis can’t fault him on the comparison.

As he closes his eyes to shampoo his hair, he thinks of flower crowns, and smiles giddily, excited for three o’clock.

*

When he pulls up the shoe store, air conditioning blasting in his shitty car, he quadruple checks his reflection in the mirror. He’s kept his hair down today, knowing the humidity would ruin a quiff, and he’s pulled on a thin grey beanie overtop. He chose to wear his skinniest jeans (ignoring Niall’s comments about blood flow and Viagra) along with his The Who shirt, and grey TOMS for lack of a better option. (Fucking Niall.)

Butterflies flit about in his tummy nervously as he walks inside, holding his elbow self consciously. Harry is leaning against the wall with Louis’ shoe box in one hand, i-pod in the other, headphone cords travelling up and disappearing under his curls. He looks even hotter without his uniform, thin white t-shirt stretched tight around his toned chest (a couple of tattoos peek out, and Louis almost drools), black skinnies even tighter than his own, vintage looking boots on his pigeon toed feet. He still has on his flower crown, slightly lopsided. Louis reaches up to fix it when he stops in front of him, and Harry startles, but then smiles brightly, leaning down to make it easier.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, wrapping the earphone wire round his i-pod carefully and then tucking it in his pocket.

“No problem.” Louis tuts. “Now, how about I buy these shoes and we head out, yeah?”

“Oh, no, I already dealt with that. They’re yours.” He offers, holding out the box.

Louis harrumphs. “You didn’t have to do that, now I feel bad.” He whines.

“No, don’t!” Harry pouts back. “I, I get a huge discount, right, and, like. I owe you, so.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Louis sighs, but takes the box, so as not to be rude.

“Well, yeah, I do. Cause you literally asked me on a date to stand up for me. Against teenage girls. So.” Harry shrugs a weak shoulder.

“But, Harry, you know that’s not the reason I asked you out, right? It was why I was so, like, showy about it, but. I asked you out cos I wanted to ask you out. You’re really cute, and I wanna get to know you.” Louis explains, watching as Harry gets progressively more and more blushy.

“Oh.” He grins, small. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

Louis holds out an arm like an escort (not the prostitute kind, although he has actually been paid for the occasional blowjob here and there, because he’s damn good at it and fuck anyone who says uni isn’t that expensive) and Harry loops his arm through, gesturing for him to lead the way. He does.

They get in the car, Harry shotgun and already fiddling with the rainbow dice hanging from Louis’ rear-view mirror, a gift from Lottie after he came out, the same day received the vehicle as a graduation present. Louis sticks the keys in and starts it up, smiling over at the boy beside him.

“So, flower boy, where am I going to pick up your sister?” He chimes, getting a coquette blink in response.

“Erm, the community centre, the one across from the mall?” Harry answers after a moment, shaking his head. A stray petal flutters down into his lap, but he just holds it up in front of the vents and watches the air conditioning blow it behind them into the back seat.

Louis smirks and pulls out of the lot. “I’ve broken into that pool before.” He comments idly, giving the finger to someone who tries to cut him off.

Harry looks surprised, but he chuckles. “Oh have you?

“Drunkenly. Once. Maybe twice.” Louis admits. He turns into a bit of a fiend when he drinks, _live fast die young bad girls do it well_ , and all that.

Harry snorts and doesn’t comment, instead reaching for the radio and quirking a questioning eyebrow. Louis nods, and he begins to flick through the stations.

It’s a comfortable journey, listening to music and commenting on random things here and there. Louis likes that it’s not forced; they don’t have to speak to fill the silence. They just kind of work, like they’ve known each other months, not hours. (It makes Louis secretly giddy.)

They reach the community center and Harry texts his sister, informing her they’re outside. Louis talks about his own sisters as they wait, telling Harry the story of Christmas morning ‘06, and the sibling mischief that lead up to their tree ending up sideways on the floor, after sliding down the stairs, star missing the twins’ eyes by an inch. Harry listens intently, gives his full attention, everything he has. Louis loves it. (He’s been told he likes to hear himself talk, but hey. Can’t help it if he’s a good story teller. His sisters still ask for them, no matter their age.)

Soon there’s a rap on the window and they glance over to see a girl on the other side of the glass, older than Harry but definitely resembling him, same eyes and dimples and enticing smile. She’s nothing compared to him, though, no offense to her. Harry’s just so _pretty_. Said boy reaches back to unlock the door and she hops in, leaning forward to ruffle her brother’s curls.

“Hey there loser, who’s this?” She asks, and Harry rolls his eyes, stupidly fond.

“This is Louis, I met him at work today.” He answers. “Louis, this is my sister.”

She sticks her hand forward and Louis cranes sideways to shake it, offering a smile.

“Hey, Harry’s sister. So I’m dropping you at your boyfie’s house?” He asks teasingly, Harry pressing his lips together to avoid laughing, Louis assumes.

“Gemma. And yes sir.” She chirps. “You can just drop me at the park, I’ll go in the back way.”

“Does his mum still not know about you guys?” Harry asks, prompting Louis to follow up with “Wait, the guy is _how_ old, and he still lives with his mum?”

Gemma glowers at both of them. “He’s currently unemployed. Shut up. And anyways, his mother’s a cow, even when he introduced me as a friend she asked if I got around. She wanted to look at my phone.”

“Ew.” Louis sounds, wrinkling his nose. He pulls out onto the road again, Gemma finally buckling her seatbelt.

“Your life is entertaining.” Harry grins serenely, and his sister flicks his ear.

“And yours isn’t. Or, until now, at least. Never had a fit guy pick you up from work before, this is progress.” She smirks.

Harry’s cheeks match his flowers, and Louis flushes a little himself.

“Happy to help.” He mumbles, and turns up the radio.

Again, it’s an easy, comfortable ride, Gemma texting away in the back, occasionally kicking Harry’s seat to annoy him. He ignores her, shooting Louis looks like he’s a camera on The Office, and he has to focus on just driving before he gets caught up in Harry’s eyes and crashes them into a tree. That wouldn’t be a very good first date.

They reach the park soon enough, though, and Gemma leaves with kisses to both their cheeks and her middle finger up when Harry tells her to send his love to her househusband. Louis giggles, enamoured, and nudges his shoulder.

“Do you wanna just leave the car here and walk? Pretty sure there’s a coffee place down that way, right?” He questions, pointing to the left. Harry nods, pleased.

“Yeah, sure.” He murmurs, and since when can a voice be so sexy? If Louis could choose a narrator for his life, it would be this boy. Or maybe the voice in his head, his internal monologue. That’d be ace, getting to listen to him all day.

But for now, he gets to listen to him for real, so as they get out of the car and start off in the direction of the shops, he takes advantage.

“So, I still know less about you than you do me.” He points out. “Tell me things?”

“What kind of things?” Harry muses as they go. He has long legs, and it takes effort for Louis to keep up. Damn his tiny genes. (He can hear the joke Niall would make here, but ignores it.)

“I dunno, stuff.”

“Very specific.”

“Very snarky.”

“Mm.” Is all Harry hums, looking amused. He’s pretty in the afternoon sunshine, all smooth skin and smoother movements. “Well, I don’t know. I’m not that interesting.”

“Nonsense.” Louis cuts in. “Go on, anything.”

Harry bites his lip and nods. “Erm, alright. Well, I work at the store, as you know, but I also babysit my goddaughter as another part time job, Lux, she’s the cutest. And, um, Gemma and I take a dance class every Tuesday. Stupid, yeah, but we just do it for fun. We suck, but we know we suck, so.”

“Sounds great.” Louis encourages.

“Yeah, I guess. And, um, my Mum and I are close, same with our cat, Dusty. I don’t have that many friends, cos, you know.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes at himself. “But I do have two mates, Liam and Zayn. They’re together, have been since I met them in high school. Real fairytale stuff, those two.”

Louis nods, and after a moment of hesitation, thinks _fuck it_ and grabs Harry’s hand. The boy squeaks in the back of his throat and almost curls in on himself with happiness. It’s fucking _adorable_. Their fingers link perfectly and they swing them as they go.

“Mm, I’ve only got one real best mate.” Louis pipes up. “He’s my roommate, the bloody wanker. He’s the reason I needed new shoes.”

Harry huffs a laugh, pearly whites showing.

“His name’s Niall. Irish, lazy, straightest of the straight. Or, shouldn't say that, Bieber’s his exception.” Louis explains, like a secret. Harry leans in just like he does, playing along. (About time someone indulged him.)

“Even now? Kid’s going off the deep end.” Harry frown-smirks, half a dimple peeking out, playing hide and seek. If Louis had to search forever to find it, he would.

“Mm, that’s what happens when you take a golden hearted, sweet as maple syrup boy and give him a kagillion screaming fangirls. You see, young Harold, those Canadians are so very polite and humble, that they can’t handle an ego. Give a mouse a cookie and he’ll ask you for some milk, give a Canadian an ego and they’ll spiral down like a goose in a blizzard. Or some other stereotype joke, I’m a bit rusty when it comes to the great white north.” Louis sighs dramatically.

Harry’s in stitches.

“Christ.” He giggles. “I’m pretty sure I should be scolding you for, like, racism or something, Louis.”

“Aww, c’mon now, I love the Canadian people! I heard they invented the zipper, and that has saved me much hassle in some, uh, sticky situations.” He winks, and Harry laughs again, even louder. “Plus they provided us with Jim Carrey, and he was basically my childhood.”

Harry nods along, bemused. “And Shania Twain. Where would we be without Man, I Feel Like A Woman? That’s on my workout playlist. And my shower playlist. And maybe my feel good one too, I’m not sure.” He _hmm_ s, and Louis grins fondly. (Shit. He’s already _fond_ on this angel of a boy. He’s so screwed.)

“And Celine Dion! Titanic wouldn’t be as horrendously sad without that whiney song.” Louis adds. “See? Thanks, Canada. Wait, what were we talking about? How did we get to this point?”

They’ve reached the coffee place now, Harry holding the door open for him through more chuckles, silent this time.

“Something about Niall.” He prompts.

“Ah, yes, Niall. Did I mention he’s a wanker? Cos he is.” Louis nods, bouncing on his heels.

“You did, yes.” Harry smirks, leading him to the counter by his hand. His palm is soft and warm, fingers calloused like he plays guitar. Maybe he does. That’d be hot.

The bored looking cashier smacks her gum and puts on a fake smile, eyes lingering on Harry’s flower crown, much like a few customers around them. “Hi, what can I get for you?”

“Cuppa, Yorkshire for me, thanks.” Louis orders, turning to look up at Harry. “And you, love?”

“Just a coffee, please, cream and sugar.” He provides.

Louis pays, despite Harry’s protests, arguing that the boy just bought him a pair of Vans, he can at least let him pay for coffee. Harry gives, looking pleased.

They get their mugs and find a table near the windows, sun rays coming through the half open blinds and casting shadows across their faces. Harry smiles shyly when he catches Louis looking, and he returns it.

There’s a silence that sparks with something unknown, both of them eyeing each other over their drinks.

“So. What are your thoughts on the Kardashians?” Louis blurts out, because, you know, idiot.

But Harry just clucks thoughtfully.

“Is this a test? Will my answer to this set the tone for the rest of the evening?” He asks teasingly. (Louis squeals on the inside, because _rest of the evening_.)

“It’s quite possible.” He nods, hiding his smirk behind a sip of his tea. It’s not made quite the way he likes it, but where he would normally complain, he just focuses on the beautiful boy across from him.

“Well. I’d say that they’re idiots, but they provide good entertainment, if you enjoy laughing at people’s stupidity.” Harry decides.

“Always.” Louis confirms, Harry nodding along. “Okay, you passed that one. What about footy, what’s your team?”

This leads to a long, playfully heated argument about football and pride and morals. From there they move onto movies and books and school, so on and so forth, getting lost in conversation for hours. By the time they reach a lull, the sky is dimming outside, they’re both on their third cups, and they’ve shifted their chairs to sit extra close together, legs bumping and half tangled, arms brushing every time they move so much as an inch. Louis is high off it.

“Do you have anywhere to be tonight?” He asks, in what he hopes is a casual fashion.

Harry’s eyes sparkle like the emeralds they are.

“Um, not really, no. Did you. Did you want to do something, or?” He stammers, timid.

Louis places a hand over his, stroking gently with his thumb. “I would, yeah. If that’s okay with you.”

Harry nods quickly, eager. “Yeah, yes. Please.”

Louis’ heart swells like a helium balloon, ready to float up, up and away. It’s crazy, that a boy he just met today could make him feel this way.

“What should we do? Anything you want, darling.” He smiles softly, admiring the way Harry looks when his canopy eyelashes cast downward, tickling his porcelain skin.

“I don’t know. I, um. Haven’t exactly been on, like, a proper date before.” He mumbles, as if embarrassed.

Louis slides their fingers together, coaching him to look up. “Well then, I’ll just have to make this one the best date ever, yeah?”

Harry looks so grateful it almost hurts. “Yeah.” He smiles.

*

They end up in a pet store. Which, Louis thinks, probably isn’t Best Date Ever material, but Harry seems _delighted_. He’s got a little orange kitten in one hand, dangling mouse toy in the other, and he’s pretty much just smitten. (Louis might be too, but not with the cat.)

“Aw, she’s so cute! Hello little cutie, yes, hi! Isn’t she the cutest?” Harry’s cooing, strange coming from such a deep voice. Still gorgeous, though. He could recite, like, nursery rhymes and Louis’ one hundred percent sure he’d listen like the five year old he is at heart.

Harry bounces the toy and the kitten swats at it with little clawed paws, eyes darting about as she tries to follow. Louis sidles closer on the floor and daringly hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, feeling him lean back into it.

“Super cute.” He hums, drawing patterns on Harry’s back. “But, uh, that little boy over there is giving you the stink eye, so I think your time with ginger here is up, unfortunately.”

Harry groans in complaint, but holds the kitten out to the boy, still in his school uniform, hovering impatiently. He takes her carefully, thankfully accepting the toy as well, and then runs off with a chant of “Mommy, mommy, look, look!”

They both snort, and clamber up off the ground to wander further in. They pass the birds, Harry cringing away because he says they freak him out, with their beady little eyes, and Louis quickly skipping any and all reptiles, because, like, no. He’s seen Indiana Jones. And Snakes On A Plane.

They reach the fish, though, rows upon rows of tanks, lights sparse so the area glows blue like the water, surrounding customers in an aquarium like environment. They spend a little while tapping the glass and pointing out their favorites, hands still linked between them, other sounds around them fading away.

“I had a fish, once.” Harry says, following a goldfish with a slender, ring clad finger. “Like this one. Named him Goldy.”

“Very creative.” Louis drawls.

“I was six!” Harry protests with a chuckle. “And anyways, didn’t matter, our cat ate him a week later.”

Louis winces sympathetically. “Ouch. Niall and I have a beta fish at home. Forget about him most of the time, honestly, but he’s pretty.”

“What’s his name?” Harry asks. (Nobody else would bother to, and Louis loves it.)

He snorts. “God, don’t laugh, okay?” He instructs, and Harry nods obediently. “Right, so we named him Ponyboy, literally so that on the day he dies we can flush him down the toilet and say-”

“Stay gold, Ponyboy.” Harry finishes for him. “That’s brilliant, I love it.”

Louis wiggles a little, preening. “Why thank you, bout time someone recognized my genius.”

“Oh yes, you’re the next Einstein.” Harry assures him mockingly.

“Did you know there’s a picture of Einstein wearing furry slippers? I found it on the internet once for a school project way back. Pretty sure my PowerPoint presentation could have gone without the slide labelled _Do you like fuzzy slippers? Well then you’re in the running to be America’s Next Top Genius_.” Louis mutters, and Harry’s elbow thwacks a fish tank as he hurries to cover up a chortle.

He pouts, whining an _owww_ , and Louis ducks down to kiss it lightly. The other boy quickly turns to lead him away, mumbling about puppies or something, and Louis has a sneaking suspicion his face is red yet again. He blushes easy, but that doesn’t mean Louis isn’t still proud of himself every time he makes it happen.

They spend ages playing with fluffy little puppies, Louis holding a chihuahua and making a Chi-ha-ha joke (he’s not on the top of his game, okay, there’s a curly haired god in front of him and he’s distracted) and Harry hoisting a squirmy Pomeranian on top of his head, asking _does this puppy make me look fat?_ They get little puppy kisses, and little puppy cuddles, and Louis wishes maybe he were a little puppy because clearly they don’t have any fear when it comes to expressing their affection.

By the time they leave the store, they smell like dog treats and their clothes have hair all over them, but both are still obsessing over the cuteness. Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist as they walk, sun setting in the distance.

“So, Harry, where to next?” He chimes, stroking his hip. Harry looks cautious as he snakes his arm around Louis’ shoulder, but he leans into it to assure him it’s okay. More than okay, really. “You hungry? Wanna grab some food?”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry grins. “Think we could get pizza, actually? I know that’s not, like, usual date food, but I’ve been craving it all week.”

“That’s perfect actually, cos I know a place near here that does great pizza and the _best_ wings, which coincidentally _I_ have been craving all week.” Louis tells him, pulling them round a corner. Harry follows, almost tripping over nothing.

They walk down the street all pressed together, even though it makes it inconvenient while trying to weave around other people. Louis has no plans to let go anytime soon. Harry talks about his first job at the cinema, and Louis over shares about the boy he made a fool of himself in front of on his first day of work ever, spilling slushie all over the convenient store counter. They’re both laughing again when they reach the pizza place, seeming like they never stop.

Harry orders pizza with sweet corn on it (Louis teases him in a horrible American accent) and Louis gets his wings, opting for breaded to cut down the mess. Honey garlic sauce all over your face isn’t something you allow on a first date, let alone in public. (Unless you are Niall.)

When they’re sat together in a plastic seated booth, beside instead of across from each other, Harry speaks up between bites of his slice. He eats kind of like a frog, sticking out his tongue to catch the food before it goes in his mouth. It shouldn't be so hopelessly endearing, but it is.

“So, what’you do, anyways? You haven’t said.” He inquires, shifting to face him a little better.

Louis sucks on his fingers and wipes them on a napkin. “Mm, well I’m doing a few uni classes here and there, and I work part time McDicks.” He explains.

“McDonalds? And what classes?” Harry questions. It seems his curiosity never runs out.

“Glamorous, I know.” Louis drones. “And I’m taking a lot of fitness stuff actually, figure I could maybe be a personal trainer, or a coach, or summat. I dunno. I’m not one of those people who plan ahead.”

“Mm, me neither, really.” Harry shrugs. “I mean, I plan the usual stuff, like, wedding and kids and all that, but not, like, actual useful things. And I should introduce you to Liam, he’s obsessed with fitness.”

“Don’t be mistaken Harold, I won’t get off my fat arse unless I absolutely have to.” Louis divulges, taking a moment to glower at some teenage bloke who’s been staring at the flowers on Harry’s head. He looks away, chastised, and Louis feels strong, defending his boy. (Okay, not _his_ boy. So not his boy. (Yet.) Louis needs to work on his possessiveness. Maybe he should talk to his therapist about that instead of how loud the new neighbors are when they fuck at nine in the morning.)

“Well I suppose that makes sense, must be a comfy arse.” Harry comments, sipping at his soda.

“If you make a padding joke, I’ll never take you seriously again.” Louis warns through a smirk.

Harry rolls his big doe eyes. “Pretty sure you don’t take much serious as it is, Lou.”

Louis would tease him right back, if he wasn't so overwhelmed at the nickname. It’s not like he’s the first person to call him that, in fact, almost everyone does, but Harry doesn’t know that.

“Whatever.” He scoffs in return, sniffing haughtily. “I have a lovely bum and you’re just jealous.”

“Not gonna argue that.” Is all Harry says, before deciding they need ice cream for dessert, because some men want to watch the world burn. The world being Louis’ insides, in this metaphor. And he supposes Harry could never be considered anything but pure _boy_. Louis should really take an English class, it wouldn’t kill him. (Except, you know, it totally could.)

They do indeed get ice cream though, because Louis is a gentleman, even when he’s basically salivating at the sight of Harry Style’s tongue licking round a double chocolate chip cone.

He gets a simple strawberry and they eat under a streetlamp, because it’s officially getting dark now, going on eight or nine o’clock. But Louis doesn’t want this to end anytime soon, honest to god having the time of his life, and the gorgeous boy beside him seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Can we go to the park? Shouldn’t be many kids there round this time.” He suggests as he’s quickly biting the last of his cone, trying to stop melted ice cream from running down his fingers.

“If you piggyback me there.” Louis counters, raising a daring eyebrow.

Harry picks him up like he weighs nothing, biceps bulging, and Louis just clings to his back and tries not to be obvious as he curiously inhales his scent, picking up vanilla scented cologne (or body spray, maybe, the girly kind you have to buy in those shops that all but suffocate you with perfume, which Louis is convinced they put in the air vents) and some sweet fruity shampoo. His flower crown smells nice too, even though it’s beginning to wilt. Louis presses his face into the nape of Harry’s neck, feeling like a creep.

“Big strong man, am I your damsel in distress?” He teases absentmindedly, feeling Harry smile where he’s linked his hands in front.

“Oh, obviously.” Harry nods. “Gotta protect you and that magnificent bum of yours from the clutches of evil, and, like. Stuff.”

Louis snickers, and leans forward to kiss his cheek. He may or may not feel the boy’s breath catch.

They make it to the park and it’s dark all around except where the big stadium like lights cast their beams, jungle gym lit up in the night. Harry sets Louis down with extreme carefulness, which is really just too sweet. (Louis’ going to get a cavity, but, like, metaphorical. Or something.)

Louis runs straight up the slide (because _five year old_ ) and when he slips back down as predicted, Harry is there to catch him. They run round like idiots, climbing ladders and monkey bars, pushing each other underdog style on the swings. Harry giggles like music, like a song Louis could listen to forever on repeat. He himself can’t stop laughing and grinning either, so much that his cheeks ache with it.

They topple to the sandbox eventually, half sprawled across one another, Louis’ head pillowed on Harry’s chest.

“This is horribly unsanitary.” He sighs. He has no intention of moving. “There could be anything in this sand. Diapers. Knives. Dead bodies.”

He shakes with the vibrations of Harry’s laugh. “Probably just a plaster or two.” The boy reasons.

“Still. Thought you were meant to be protecting me, flower child.” Louis grins with his eyes closed. His beanie slips off but he doesn't do anything about it.

A tentative hand comes down to stroke through his hair and he nuzzles up into it, much like the kitten from earlier. Whatever, okay, it feels nice. (If he could purr, he would.)

“Yeah.” Harry breathes. “I, um. Can I just. Say thank you, for protecting _me_ earlier? Back, with, like, those girls. I just.”

“Hey, no, don’t worry about it.” Louis frowns, resting his chin on Harry’s stomach to look up at him. His eyes are focused up at the stars, cheeks flushed and flower crown nearly falling off. “They were disgusting, they deserved a good slap in the face, if I’m honest.”

Harry snorts, but it’s humorless. “I guess.”

Louis juts out his lower lip and knee shuffles his way up to straddle him, hands bracketing Harry’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “M’serious, Harry. You’re lovely. You’re so lovely, and I’ve had so much fun tonight, you’ve no idea. You’re wonderful, please don’t let idiots like that make you think any different.”

Harry looks like he wants to _cry_ , and that would definitely be the straw that breaks the camel’s back ( _my humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps_ Niall’s voice sings in his head), so Louis kisses him before he can start. Or, rather, he leans in slowly, giving the gentle boy more than enough time to stop it, but he doesn't. So then he kisses him.

His lips are soft and wet and his torturously large hands settle on Louis’ hips, gripping warmly and driving him crazy. Louis cups his cheek and tilts to get a better angle, kissing the air right out of his lungs, licking past into his mouth and feeling him whimper. It almost breaks them apart, because it makes Louis grin, prideful.

When they do actually break away, because unfortunately Louis hasn’t yet lived out his Twilight fantasy of not needing oxygen (god, the blowjobs he could give), Harry looks _wrecked_ , lips parted around panting breaths, mop of curls tangled, petals lodged between strands, eyes completely lust blown.

And Louis wants to take it further, wants to make him fall apart and see just how pretty he is then, but he doesn’t. Because Harry doesn’t deserve that. He’s different, special, and he deserves this to be the same. He deserves someone to sweep him off his feet, like those girls from earlier thought he’d never have. But they’re wrong, because Louis is going to be this kid’s bloody prince charming, and he knows it.

“Hi.” He says cheekily, winded and out of coherent thoughts.

“Hello.” Harry smiles.

Louis leans back down to kiss him another few times, short little pecks that end before they can progress, drawing a whine from Harry’s throat. Louis tries desperately to keep from getting hard.

“Love, I’m pretty sure you mentioned a curfew, at some point?” He reminds him.

Harry huffs petulantly. “Fuck curfew, I wanna stay with you.”

Louis struggles to make a decision, stroking over the heated skin of Harry’s neck, feeling his hammering pulse. “Are you free tomorrow? I have work in the day, but after?”

Harry seems to be just as distracted. “I, uh, work the same hours tomorrow that I did today, I think.”

“Then how about you come to McDicks and see me in my dashing uniform, and then we can go have dinner?” Louis suggests breathlessly. Harry nods. “Good. Right now though, I’m gonna give you the hickey of a lifetime, and then I’m gonna drive you home. Sound okay?”

Harry looks like he’s won the lottery.

*

When he pulls up outside Harry’s home (it’s quaint and sweet and reminiscent of his own back in Donny), neither want to let go of each other. Their hands are linked over the gear shift, and they’ve been sneaking glances at each other, Louis admiring the throbbing bruise he left in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

Eventually though, Louis walks around to open Harry’s door for him, doing a little bow and everything, making the boy laugh. He steps out and leans sideways against it when it’s closed, looking at Louis closely under the orange glow of the streetlamps.

“I had, like, literally the greatest time today, Lou.” He admits with a blush, glancing at his inward pointing feet.

It’s stupidly cute and Louis steps in real close, so their chests are almost bumping. “Me too, gorgeous.” He murmurs. And then “I really wanna kiss you again.”

“So do it.” Harry dares right away.

Louis smirks. “Well, see, I would, but your mum and sissy are spying from the window.” He informs him, and Harry whips his head round to see.

He grumbles a bit when he spots them, sheepish, but doesn’t give up. “So kiss me anyways, may as well give em a show.”

So Louis does. He links his hands behind Harry’s neck, goes up on his tippy toes (seriously, fuck tall people) and kisses him softly, almost breathtakingly, both of them swaying into it bodily. Harry’s hands tuck into Louis’ back pockets and he chuckles into his mouth, tugging his curls in retaliation. His flower crown is all but gone now, and he misses it, more than he thought he would.

When they finally, finally part a good fifteen minutes later, they’ve made their plans for tomorrow, exchanged phone numbers, and kissed another few times for good measure. You know, for their health. And stuff.

Harry blows a silly kiss before he walks inside, Louis catching a small glimpse of Anne and Gemma giving him a huge hug before the door shuts with a squeak. He sighs, dreamily, and gets back in his car, reminding himself that he’ll see his boy again soon.

There are flower petals on the passenger seat, and he leaves them there. (And maybe he pockets a few.)

*

When Louis walks into his kitchen, still wearing an infatuated smile on his lips, he’s ambushed by a half naked lump of Irish boy.

“Louis, Louis, Louis, you were gone ages! The whole day! How’d it go? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Niall is like a mix of a child and the dog from Up.

Louis shakes him off and turns to fill their crappy kettle with water, hopping up onto the counter once he’s flicked it on.

“Shove off.” He protests weakly, knowing full well it’s pointless.

“But Loouuuu, my love life is nonexistent, I have to live vicariously through you! Come on, give me some excitement, I lie around here _all_ day, with no friends and no _roommate_ and I had to listen to the neighbors have sex like _four times_ and-”

“Okay, god, shut your trap.” Louis snorts, tossing a nearby banana at his head. He misses, and doesn’t care. “It was brilliant, he’s great, I’m seeing him again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Niall asks in disbelief. “Man, must have been the date of a lifetime.”

Louis smirks at his hands. “Kinda was.”

Niall is rummaging around in the fridge, but is still listening intently, surely.

“What’d you do? Was it all romantic, like, dinner, movie, and a kiss on the doorstep?” He questions, beginning to make a peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

Niall is also part pregnant woman.

“Actually, we got coffee, walked round a bit, went to a pet store, got pizza and wings, then ice cream, then went to the park. I did kiss him in front of his house though.” Louis explains, unable to stop his eyes from continuously crinkling.

Niall pauses. “You do dates weird.” He decides, and gets back to work.

“And you do sandwiches weird, but I’m not criticizing, now am I?” Louis asks. The kettle goes, and he grabs for his favorite mug (it’s honest to god patterned with flying penises, and he always has to pretend Niall got it for him when his mum visits, because really, it was his sisters, a collective effort after his last breakup) and gets to work, focused as always. If tea making was an art, Louis would win awards.

“Hey now, I’m not criticizing. He sounds nice, at least. Tell me about him?” Niall requests as he eats his disgusting concoction.

And normally Louis would spill every last detail, as always, but this is different, because Harry is different. It just seems wrong to relay it all to someone else, to do anything but keep it special between them. “Ni.” He cuts off, grimacing.

“Just a little? I will resort to pouting, Louis, you know I will. Puppy dog eyes and everything. I’ll go all Sarah McLachlan animal abuse commercial on you. Don’t make me sing that sad ass song.” His roommate (wanker, such a wanker) convinces, but then, seeing the look on his face, continues with “M’not prying, or anything, promise, I just wanna look out for you n shit.”

Louis’ annoyance melts away and he smiles fondly, sipping at his steaming tea. “Fine. His name’s Harry. He’s sweet and tall and cute, and he blushes a lot, and he has tattoos and dimples and curly hair, and he wears flower crowns.”

If Niall’s surprised at all, he doesn't show it.

“Seems pretty ace. Think I can meet him soon?” He asks, licking peanut butter off his thumb.

Louis pats him on the back as he walks out of the room. “We’ll see. Wanna watch cat videos on youtube before bed?”

“ _Duh_.”

*

Louis’ shift seems to go by extra slow, knowing that Harry will be picking him up once it’s over. He’s spacey and moony eyed all day, Eleanor teasing him for all the times he has to ask customers to repeat their order. Fuck her and her bedazzled nails, she’s not got the most precious boy in the world texting her emojis all day. (Also, just what the fuck has a tempura prawn got to do with saying _I miss you?_ ) (Oh _god, Harry misses him_ , he’s going to die.)

Four o’clock finally rolls around though, and when Louis looks up to serve his last customer before he’s done, his boy is standing there.

He’s got on a cut off plaid shirt, buttoned low to show off tattoos and long necklaces, hickey from last night peeking out the collar. His jeans are just as tight as before, rings and bracelets just as copious, but the flower crown on his head is made of Gerber daisies today, full and brightly colored.

“How can I help you?” Louis asks, slightly mocking, mostly just reminiscent of the moment they met.

Harry snorts. “You could tell me how much you cost, cos you’re not listed on the menu but you’re all I want.”

Louis groans overdramatically, Eleanor laughing back where she’s assembling stupid amounts of burgers.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard, Harry.” He mutters, unable to stop smiling.

Harry just laughs. “Shut up, are you ready to go?”

“Always.” Louis winks.

He tells Harry to wait by bathrooms while he clocks out and then changes back into his clothes (he decided on his rolled jean shorts, baggy black tank top and new pair of Vans), meticulously fixing his quiff in the mirror with the mini bottle of hairspray he ‘borrowed’ from Eleanor’s bag.

When he’s ready to go, he taps Harry on the shoulder and leans in to kiss him, catching him off guard. He falters for a moment, frozen, but then he smiles into it and kisses back, almost backing Louis up against a wall. Impressive. (And very promising.)

“Well hello to you too.” Harry says when they’ve broken apart. “What’s the plan?”

“There isn’t one.” Louis grins. “We’re gonna wing it, cos that’s more fun.”

“Most definitely.” Harry sounds, and fidgets for a moment before linking their fingers. Louis squeezes his hand.

“Then come on, Curly.”

*

They have an amazing second date. It’s much like the first, random and unpredictable, making decisions at the drop of a hat. But no matter how unorthodox eating at the actual supermarket is, they have a hell of a time running through aisles, singing loudly and pushing each other in carts, and then, inevitably, getting kicked out. Harry says, through hysterical breaths, that he’s never had this much fun in his life. Louis pretty much agrees, and kisses him up against the front windows, for all of them to see.

They go for a walk afterwards, and Louis buys Harry a lemonade from a little girl’s stand, and Harry picks Louis a flower from her garden (with her mother’s permission, of course, because the kid is an actual angel) and he smells it for the rest of the night, like a fucking Disney princess.

*

Two dates become three, four and five, barely even spaced out because they can’t get enough of each other. Harry’s beautiful, it makes Louis’ heart skip just looking at him. He thrives under Louis’ attention, coming out of his shell more and more every day. He’s cheeky and funny and sappy, and he likes to surprise Louis with kisses whenever he can; when they’re walking down the road, midway through a conversation, even during meals. He says it’s because he can’t get enough of him, and Louis would scoff if he didn't know exactly how he feels.

Kissing and snogging progresses to grinding and wandering hands, but they still don’t _do_ anything. It’s not a problem in the slightest though, even if Niall seems shocked Louis doesn’t have blue balls. He’s really just content to spend time with his flower boy, doing nothing and everything, anything at all. They never fail to have fun, and laugh and smile and cuddle up close.

Everything is just lovely.

*

“And then I walked into the bathroom and found Niall asleep in the shower, in a onepiece, with Doritos spilling out of his pockets.” Louis is saying. “And that is why he’s not allowed to mix weed and tequila anymore.”

Harry giggles, petting at his tummy. (Louis very much dislikes his tummy, but after the first time Harry kissed it and called it a _love pouch_ (christ) he finds it easier to embrace.) They’re in the park now, the one they went to that first night. It’s during the day this time, so it’s crowded and full of sounds, children screaming and yoga class _om_ -ing, music coming from somewhere in the background. The sun is shining out from behind a few thin clouds, and they’ve barely moved in hours.

“You never have a dull moment, do you?” Harry asks, beaming as Louis interrupts his circles to take his hand in his, playing with their fingers.

“Oh we have plenty.” Louis muses, before kissing the pad of Harry’s thumb, that smells like his peach hand cream. “But the crazy shit Niall gets us up to outweighs that.”

Harry hums, distracted.

And then their metaphorical _the whole world is lovely_ bubble is popped.

A teenager, just plain _douchey_ looking with his low hanging jeans and weed printed boxers, comes zooming by on the path beside the bench they’ve been occupying, pushing along on his skateboard with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He spots them, Harry sitting with Louis’ head in his lap, and an evil smirk grows on his face. Louis can’t move fast enough and as he passes by, he reaches out and snags the flower crown off Harry’s curls (purple and blue petals, this time) with a call of “Faggots!”

All Louis can do is yell back “Fucking asshole!” before the kid is gone as fast as he came.

He looks up and sees the way Harry’s staring hard at the ground, blush high and shameful on his cheeks, and scrabbles to sit up and straddle him.

“Love, hey, are you alright?” He asks, kissing down his nose. “I’m so sorry, fuck, I, I would have gone after him, but I think we both know my little legs wouldn’t catch up.”

He laughs weakly, an attempt at lightening the mood, but Harry’s half hearted smile doesn’t remotely meet his eyes.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it. People have taken them before.” He shrugs. He always shrugs when he’s minimizing things, Louis has come to realize.

“Why?” Louis frowns, voice in his head cursing the world and anyone who has hurt his angel. Because, fuck, he’s never had a problem with the crowns, never even thought twice about them, just saw it as an accessory, one that makes Harry look even more perfect. But other people, they stare, and whisper, and _judge_ , and Louis hates them. He’d call them all out if he could. (And if it wouldn’t mortify the boy who’d much rather go unnoticed.)

“Cos they’re weird.” Harry sighs. “I dunno. People take them, or throw them on the ground, or rip them apart. I’m used to it.”

“But.” Louis cuts off, furious. “But that’s not fair.”

It’s pathetic and obvious, but still.

Harry shrugs again. “Life isn’t fair, what’re you gonna do.”

And he looks so defeated, and so, so _not him_ , like the flower crowns make him _more_ than happy, make him a better self, if that’s a thing, and it’s horrible to watch, to just sit and watch.

So he doesn’t.

He climbs off his lap and stands up quick, using their still joined hands to tug Harry up as well. “C’mon, I’m done with this.” He huffs, before pulling the taller boy in the other direction. He just follows, as always.

It takes a few minutes to get to his destination, filled with muttered curses out of his mouth, and small sighs from Harry’s. When they do reach the big fountain, though, Louis leads them right over to the assorted ring of flowers around it, and flops down.

When Harry sits in front of him, long legs crossed, Louis gestures to the flowers.

“Pick your favorites.” He instructs.

Harry furrows his eyebrows but surveys them, and then points to the white daises. Louis nods, and immediately picks a few, down by the bottom of the stems because even with his limited knowledge, he knows those will be necessary.

“How many do you need to make a crown?” He asks as he goes, and just barely catches the gurgled, cut off sound Harry makes.

“What?”

Louis glances up with a quirked eyebrow, seeing the boy with wide eyes and his lip caught between his teeth.

“How many do you need to make a crown?” He repeats, simple.

Harry takes a moment, but then answers “Usually about twenty, it depends.”

“Okay.” Louis mutters to himself, counting them out and then plucking some more, until he’s got around the right number. Then he settles back and lays them between the two, looking up again, expectantly. “So, teach me how to make one.”

Harry hesitates, seeming both thrilled and utterly confused. Louis leans across to stroke his knee lightly in encouragement, and he springs into action.

He shows Louis how, instructing him about knotting stems, _be careful or they’ll snap_ , spacing them out, _not too crowded_ , shaping it, _remember that it needs to fit on your head_ , etcetera. Eventually, after some fumbles and fuckups, Louis’ made a flower crown. It’s not perfect, no, but it’s close enough, and he’s satisfied.

So he takes it between gentle fingers and reaches up to place it on Harry’s head, adjusting it so it sits just right, even if it is a smidgen small. When he pulls back, Harry has tears brimming over, but at least he’s smiling.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Louis murmurs, kissing him slow. “M’sorry life isn’t fair. But I’m not about to let that shit happen on my watch, okay?”

Harry nods, dimples back out in full force.

“Okay.” He breathes. “Can I make you one? Please?”

And all Louis can do is nod, quite literally honored.

Harry bounces a little, childlike and gleeful. “Pick your favorites, then, please.”

Louis takes in all the flowers around them and his eyes catch on buttercups.

“Can you make one out of these?” He asks, pulling one from the ground.

Harry purses his lips but nods. “Yeah, might be difficult, but I’m sure I can do it.”

Louis grins, and crawls over to curl up in Harry’s lap (he may tease him for being a giant, but he’s rather fond of the size difference, loves being all wrapped up in him), watching as he meticulously constructs a chain, swearing here and there when he musses up.

But soon there’s a perfect, yellow crown waiting to be placed on his head. He’s glad he’s wearing his hair down today, soft and silky from Harry running his fingers through it. Said fingers place the crown on him precisely, and when he glances back up from under his fringe, Harry looks brighter than he’s ever seen him.

“You look so good.” He murmurs, pressing a tender kiss between them. “So, so good.”

Louis blushes under the attention, and touches their noses, silly. “Not as good as you.”

Harry blushes right back, and they just kind of hold each other for a while, letting the world even out. Louis kisses over Harry’s collarbone tattoos, the birds he continues to tease him for, because not only does the boy apparently hate birds, but when asked what kind they were, and why he got them, he just kind of sat there, blinked, and said _I dunno, they’re pretty, so I got them_. A teenage girl near them squeals and begins to dart about, being chased by a wasp. Harry hollers a _run Forrest, run!_ and she flips them a different kind of bird.

“How come you haven’t asked why I wear them? The flower crowns.” Harry speaks up after awhile, fiddling with the one perched atop Louis’ head.

“Hm? I dunno? You wear them cos you want to, why would I bother asking?” Louis shrugs as he taps a pattern into the other boy’s thigh.

“I dunno. Everyone asks. Say I’m weird for it.” Harry mumbles.

Louis spins to face him and shakes his head seriously. “You’re not, Hazza. Promise.”

He’s vaguely aware it’s the first time he’s used that nickname, only having adapted the _Haz_ that he heard Gemma use, before now. Harry seems to notice as well, and maybe that’s why he ducks his head with yet another signature flush of pink on his face

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs, peeking back up, timid but determined. “But. I want you to know. Can you. Could you ask me, please?”

Louis’ not sure why it seems so monumental, but he obliges, of course. “Okay.” He tells him. “Why do you wear them?”

Harry chews the inside of his cheek before answering “Because they make me feel pretty.”

Louis already knows this, though, which is why he’s quick to agree “They make you look pretty too.”

Harry smirks, rolling his eyes. “It’s more than that, though.” He mumbles.

“Okay.” Louis says again, waiting.

Harry glances away, playing with his bracelets.

“There was a time, back, back when I was a kid, that. That I felt very, very not pretty.” He explains slowly. Louis kisses their hands like before. “Um, I was, like. Going through a lot of, like. Abuse, I guess. My dad was a bad person.”

Louis frowns sympathetically, heart aching, but he knows better than to speak.

“And, like, I felt really bad about myself. I really didn’t like myself. Gemma, too, he was hurting her too. I guess she just wasn't affected the same way as me. Anyways, I’m fine now, my mum found out and he got taken away by the police, and everything was okay, but like. That feeling, of not having any worth, it sticks, you know? S’hard to get rid of.”

“Can definitely understand that, darling.” Louis whispers, shifting to let Harry rest his forehead on his shoulder.

“Yeah. But, I am better now, like I said. I’m honestly fine, and, like, I guess I’m just a bit odd because of it. Like, I have the need to be, like, good enough. Not by anyone else’s standards, just mine. And, like, I just want to be pretty, and stuff. It makes me feel better about myself, more at peace, I guess. So, like, even if the flower crowns get me a lot of shit, they also make me not care about that shit, because I feel pretty, and nice. Y’know?” He finishes meekly, deflating.

Louis fixes his current crown, presses a kiss to his scalp and wraps an arm round his back.

“Yeah. And that’s what matters, right? That you like yourself? And you should like yourself, Harry, you’re wonderful. I like you a lot.” Louis reminds him, and he lifts his head to nod, smiling in a settled way.

“Yeah. And I do, most of the time.” He promises. “You certainly help.”

“Well I should hope so, you’re my favorite, it’d be a shame if I wasn’t the same to you.” Louis says, lifting the mood, a little.

Harry snorts, shaking his head fondly. “You are, don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“Wasn’t.” Louis teases. (It's a lie, of course. He was worried, of course.)

And then he hugs Harry, because he knows he needs it. He hugs him, and they stay there in the middle of the park, matching flower crowns and blissful expressions.

*

Louis meets Zayn and Liam, who are sweet in a sickening way, and take away any of his nervousness with warm hugs upon introduction. They’d decided to go out for lunch as a group, Niall included, to get to know each other. It’s a great time, fitting together easily, and it’s cute to see Zayn and Liam fuss over Harry, and funny to see Niall get jealous when Louis ignores him in favor of kissing his boyfriend. (Yes, _boyfriend_. Thank God, or whoever the fuck is up there. He owes them one. Or five, or a thousand.)

It feels like things are falling into place, like this was how it was meant to be.

*

When Louis makes love to Harry for the first time (personally he thinks that phrase is cheesy, but Harry prefers it, hopeless romantic and all), the boy is stunning. He’s panting and gasping and whimpering, soft little sounds falling out of his mouth like he can’t even help it. He chants Louis’ name like a prayer, in time with the older boy’s thrusts, hair falling away from his face for once, red rose flower crown Louis made him coming apart against the pillow. Louis murmurs praise into his heated skin, _you look gorgeous, you’re so pretty, you’re amazing, darling_. They kiss, breathe each other in, get as close as possible and when they finally reach the edge and tumble on over, Louis’ face is pressed into Harry’s bitten neck, whispering _I love you, I love you, my beautiful boy_. Harry cries, but they’re happy tears.

*

“So Hazza dear, how’s Goldy 2.0 doing?” Louis asks as he helps Harry restock shoeboxes on shelves, showing up too early as per usual.

“Perfect.” Harry smiles, pleased, leaning over to kiss him. “He loves his little castle.”

“Well good, I spent a whole tenner on that, it’d be a shame if it went unappreciated.” Louis sniffs.

They’ve been dating for months, each better than the last, and Louis is on top of the world. (Higher. Higher than that, he’s in space, floating far away, with Harry by his side as always.)

“Mm, and, uh, how’s Niall dealing with the loss of Ponyboy?” Harry questions. Ah, yes. That was a simultaneously sad and epic day, for obvious reasons. All five of them crowded together in the loo and flushed him together, Niall actually getting choked up. (Over a fish. That he didn't even remember they had, until it started to smell, announcing its untimely death.)

“He’s chugging along, little Irish engine that could. Better now that you bought him two fucking dozen donuts.” Louis snorts, examining some new converse styles. They’d suit Liam, and he tucks that information away for Zayn, seeing as though their anniversary is coming up, as they won’t let anyone forget.

“I was _trying_ to be nice.” Harry smirks as he fixes a price tag.

“You were _trying_ to make me jealous. You damn well knew he wouldn’t share.” Louis accuses, mock lip wobble in full effect. "Evil. You're evil."

Harry nudges him fondly. “Aw, c’mon, after this I’ll buy you one and then suck you off while you eat it.”

Louis literally chokes on his tongue, having to place a box over his crotch quickly, feeling like he’s back in secondary school, discovering the unfortunate disaster that is puberty. “Harry, you can’t just say things like that.” He flusters.

“Just did.” The other boy winks.

Louis sighs, rolls his eyes and flicks him on the nose. “Idiot.”

“ _Your_ idiot.” Harry grins dopily.

“My pretty idiot.” Louis agrees.

Harry stacks the last box and stands, holding out a hand to pull Louis up, deadweight, of course. “Now, how about we go get that donut? Sprinkles here we come.”

“Sprinkles? _Sprinkles_ on a donut? That ruins it, that’s sacrilege! I don’t know if I can date a sprinkle lover, man, that’s just insane-”

Harry cuts him off with a kiss.

“ _You’re_ insane. And I love you.” He says.

Louis wraps an arm around his waist and leads him out the doors.

“Love you too, gorgeous.”


End file.
